


Imagine

by DayStar



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Bellarke, F/M, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2861423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayStar/pseuds/DayStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe where whenever someone fantasizes about you, you can physically feel it but you have no idea who is thinking it about you, (maybe because of radiation, maybe because of another totally logical reason) Bellamy and Clarke find themselves experiencing sensations from an unknown member of the 100. Little do they know, the feelings are actually coming from each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Imagine This

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun little fic with not a helluva lot of plot but plenty of sexy times. XD Actually my first time writing smut, but if anyone has suggestions, compliments or critiques, please post! My muse lives on a partial diet of kudos and comments. And last, thanks for reading!

It started as a gentle, warm pressure on her collarbone, and Clarke gasped softly, hand rising to press against her suddenly flushed skin. Raven glanced up from her work, a frown crossing her face.

“You okay, Clarke?” the other girl asked, stopping what she was doing.

Clarke sucked in a quick breath – the sensation was trailing up her neck – and pressed harder, somewhat dulling the feeling. “I – yeah, I’m fine,” she said, trying to focus back on what their mechanic was saying.

A concerned look lingering, Raven turned back to the bomb she was making, the torchlight flickering over it. “We’ll have enough to cover the north area by dawn. I’d make sure to tell -” her voice cut off as she yawned. Finished, she blinked and shook her head. “Damn, sorry. I’d make sure to tell everyone to stay clear unless they wanna go boom.”

Snorting softly, still attempting to ignore the feeling, Clarke replied, “I’ll tell them. Raven, it’s late. You should get some sleep. We can – _ah_.” She couldn’t help the muffled cry, and even in the limited light, she was certain Raven would be able to see her face heating to red, which only made it worse.

By now, she knew what was going on. It had started happening shortly after their dropship crashed. Was it the radiation? They didn’t know. But people had begun to feel… things. Sensations that shouldn’t have occurred because no one was touching them. It hadn’t taken the 100 long to throw up some theories – invisible creeps, physical manifestations of longing – but they’d found out the real reason soon enough.

It didn’t happen to everyone. Usually only those who were somehow close with someone else could accidentally transfer their fantasies. That was not the rule though, because Clarke had asked Finn, had asked Jasper and Monty and Miller and Raven and Octavia and everyone she could think of, and all of them had said they weren’t doing it, which meant it was someone random. Unless they were lying, but she was inclined to trust her friends.

Like she’d feared, Raven definitely saw. Her smile was sympathetic, albeit a little too amused. “Someone’s having fun tonight,” she observed, and Clarke scowled. With effort, you could block the other person out, stop the warm feeling of being kissed, touched…

Some people didn’t put in any effort.

Clarke felt like she was pulling overtime.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” she said, almost defensively, and Raven smirked.

“Why? You’re hot,” she teased, and as Clarke’s face darkened, she relented a little. “Okay, yeah, it’s a little annoying. But if that’s the worst thing that’s gonna happen because of the radiation, I’m totally okay with that.”

Clarke might have said ‘easy for you to say,’ except Raven was probably experiencing this just as much as she was. After all, there was Finn and Wick to consider. Instead, she let out an exasperated huff and plaintively exclaimed, “I just wish they wouldn’t do it so _much._ ”

Which made Raven completely lose what control she had, and the other girl was still laughing as Clarke retreated from the tent. The co-leader of the 100 walked quickly, trying to pretend she wasn’t running from the embarrassment, and glad it was late enough that very few people were up to see. By now, everyone knew what was happening, and it wasn’t unusual to see someone stumbling by with red cheeks, especially at night.

She went by Bellamy’s tent on her way to her own, and it was with mild surprise that Clarke realized she didn’t hear anything coming from there. Bellamy had so many distractions lining up to get in his bed – and on a purely physical basis, she didn’t blame those girls at all – her co-leader was about the only one she could be sure wasn’t the culprit. For just a moment, Clarke let herself picture him sprawled on his cot, bare chest rising and falling as he slept, for once relaxed. She could go in, and when he woke, he’d look at her with the usual fierceness, but different, and he’d reach out his hand and -

Hell. This was starting to get to her. She found herself thinking about Bellamy. Not always. Not even every night. But sometimes, when the day ended well and she wasn’t worrying herself to sleep, she had – thoughts. Thoughts about her and Bellamy, naked. She and Bellamy, together, and her helping him get rid of some of that tension, letting him be wild and relieved. And Clarke was just relieved that there was no way to find out who was fantasizing about you. If Bellamy did receive any of her late night imaginings, he’d just think it was one of the girls who visited him so often. Which probably shouldn’t have been as bittersweet as it was.

With her deliberate efforts, the sensations of a mouth sucking gently on her throat had abated, but, distracted, they started up again. Hot and bothered, too exhausted to push them entirely away, Clarke hurried away from Bellamy’s shelter, ducked into hers.

It was a long hour. She twisted and turned under her blankets, trying to find a position where fingers didn’t trail across her chest, where a tongue didn’t leave its mark on her skin. In the safety of the darkness, her mantle of leadership taken off in privacy, Clarke could almost admit – it felt good. Achingly, reluctantly good. Whoever it was… they knew what they were doing.

And if, in the solitude of her tent, Clarke let herself imagine that the thorough, tender hands belonged to Bellamy, well, that was for her to know and no one else to find out.

\---

It had been a long day. Raven’s bombs had been placed in the north woods, and he’d trained his gun crew for three hours on the best ways to reload, to fight hand to hand with the gun, to keep from dying. Bellamy could honestly say that they were improving, but whether it was enough… he just didn’t know.

“They’re doing well, Bell.” Octavia was standing at the shelter’s entrance, where she’d been watching him.

He lifted his face from his hands. “I just don’t know if they’ll be ready O. That new group of Grounders isn’t going to negotiate, like Lexa did. I just wish she’d give us some warriors.”

“Lincoln says they’re only helping if it involves Mount Weather. This, we have to deal with ourselves.”

“I know that, it’s just-” He stopped abruptly.

Octavia read him like a book. “Again?” she asked, disbelief and amusement warring on her face. The amusement won out. “I guess it has been awhile since the last time. You figured out who it is yet?”

“No,” he snapped, and quickly grabbed a shirt to hide what the fantasy touch was doing to him. It was one thing for it to happen when he was with a girl, another for his nipples to be stiffening in front of his sister.

She laughed at him. “Relax Bell. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Tugging the shirt over his head, Bellamy growled, “Don’t remind me. I’m putting up with Lincoln, but-”

“Not this again. Bellamy, I make my own choices. And I chose Lincoln, it’s not up to you.” The amusement wasn’t gone, but it had faded a bit, and Octavia crossed her arms, obviously ready for an argument.

With phantom teeth grazing his chest, he _really_ wasn’t in the mood. In fact, he just wanted to be alone. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Bellamy said. “I’m not stopping you with being with him. Hell, I probably couldn’t even if I wanted to.” He forced a rueful grin – that was actually pretty genuine – and Octavia relaxed.

“You know, you gotta find whoever’s doing it,” she said, seemingly quite glad to change the topic and focus on his discomfort. Which was just great. “Lincoln’s done it while we’re… well.” Her smile was sharp and challenging, and she was clearly still getting payback for his words. “And that was the best sex we’ve ever-”

“Okay, time for you to go to bed.” Bellamy swept out his arm, and with a smirk Octavia ducked out of the tent, leaving him to rip his shirt away from his sensitive skin and collapse onto the cot. His breath came in hoarse pants, and he could feel hands, as light as air, resting on his shoulders. Lips pressed against his, and his dark eyes fluttered closed as he strained upwards. It was incredibly unsatisfying, a tease, to not be able to affect what was happening to his body, to not be able to control it in any way.

Well, he could turn it off with some effort. Except that this felt too good to turn off.

The first few times, Bellamy had wondered who it was. He didn’t recognize the pattern, the way of moving. He didn’t think it was someone he’d already been with. There were a few people he could strike off the list, but not as many as he’d like. Raven, most likely. And Clarke. There was no way she was the one whose teeth bit fiercely at his neck, who moved in such a demanding way. No, if she ever got with someone, she’d want them to be gentle, considerate, to treat her like the princess she was.

He imagined it sometimes, carefully placing her on the bed. Not because she’d break, no, Clarke was far tougher than that, but because she deserved to be treated that way after all the shit she’d been through. To be handled with care. And when he kissed her, he’d make each one _mean_ something, not like the rough caresses he gave to the others who slept with him. He’d – fuck.

Now, no closer to solving the mystery, the dark haired boy gave up on trying and just let himself enjoy the sensation, trying to block off his frustration.

Which was easier said than done. With a groan, Bellamy twisted, felt nails lightly digging into his shoulders as the person gripped him in their thoughts. God, he just wanted – “Mmm,” he moaned, hips shifting even as the feather light weight on top settled more firmly against him.

By the time the other person had finished – busy or distracted or asleep – Bellamy was drained but not quite satisfied, aching for more. For a short while, he considered finding someone – Becky, maybe – but sex never felt as good as he wanted it to after one of these. Rolling over, he touched himself, gingerly, not wanting to bother with getting off but trying to ease the feelings.

After a while, it worked. Tired, almost empty, the boy sprawled on his back, muscles slowly losing the tenseness of the day. His mind turned to Clarke, as it so often did, but so shortly after his most recent experience, he felt melancholic. It was a good thing she wasn’t close to him – as far as Bellamy was aware, only those who were in some way close, physical or otherwise, could receive the fantasies – otherwise she might punch him in the face.

A small smile pulling away the haggard lines of his face, Bellamy rolled over and was shortly asleep.      


	2. Imagine That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and the kudos guys! Absolutely love them! As a New Years gift, have the second chapter. It's a little slow, but after this we get a nice fun chapter full of, well, nice fun things. XD Thanks again for reading!

“I asked around. No one fessed up to it.”

Clarke grimaced, her head falling back as she looked up to the skies, as though in supplication. It had been another week and a half, and no one – not Raven, not Finn, not Octavia – could find out who it was. She was starting to think she never would. Letting out a sigh, the blonde glanced to the side.

“Thanks for trying. I do appreciate it.”

Flicking her hair over her shoulder, Octavia nodded shortly, her eyes casually travelling over the camp. The two lapsed into silence, Clarke trying to push her thoughts away from her personal problem and back to camp business.

She largely failed.

After a few minutes, Octavia stirred, then let a grin creep across her face. “I think I know what might make you feel better,” she said, and Clarke glanced at her curiously.

Like she was holding a very satisfying secret, Octavia looked around, eyed a few people who were loitering nearby and then leaned in, lowering her voice. “You’re not the only one with this problem. Bellamy’s got a secret admirer, too.”

Clarke almost choked. “He-” Her throat closed off, and Octavia’s eyebrow rose quizzically, but the co-leader couldn’t say anything, her mind flying back to the uneven nights, the fantasies, the pleasure she found in such thoughts.

Octavia shrugged and continued. “Yeah, it’s been going on for a while now. Not as often as yours, I don’t think, but he really wants to find out who it is.”

Struggling to get her breath, to keep a straight face, Clarke woodenly asked, “Really? Is he – it’s really annoying him?”

Tossing her head, Octavia’s laugh pealed across the clearing, and her grin was so infectious, in a different circumstance Clarke might have returned it. As it was, tight lipped and anxious, she just gazed at Octavia until the girl managed to get out, “This is Bellamy we’re talking about, right? He’s not exactly the model citizen of abstinence.” And it was clear she couldn’t care less about what her brother did in bed. “He didn’t tell me this exactly, but I can tell he enjoys it. It’s _who_ that’s bugging him, not whatthey _do._ ”

Heat flooded Clarke’s body as Octavia winked, and she just knew that her face was bright red. She couldn’t help it. In a life or death situation, she could put on a mask, she could lie. But this wasn’t life or death. This was – this was _embarrassing._ She realized her mouth was open, and snapped it shut hurriedly.

Too late. Smile slowly fading, Octavia stared at Clarke for a long moment and when understanding abruptly brightened her green eyes, it signaled the end. “Oh my god,” Octavia breathed, drawing out each syllable. “It’s _you._ ”

And Clarke, like the novice she was, could only look down, blushing painfully, struggling to find words that just wouldn’t come. It was probably a good thing the other girl was her friend, because it could have gone rapidly downhill from there.  

 Thankfully, this was Octavia. “I’ve got to tell him!” she exclaimed, and Clarke abruptly found her voice worked as she snatched at a sleeve.

“You can’t! He doesn’t need to know, I’ll stop doing it.”

Pausing, Octavia cocked her head, reluctant. “That’s not really something I want to keep from him Clarke…” Her teeth flashed, eyes mischievous, serious expression suddenly lifting. “And, y’know, I’m pretty sure he’d be disappointed if you stopped.”    

_“Octavia!”_

The girl threw up her hands, leaned away from the mingled mortification, exasperation and desperation that had inspired the shout. “Okay, okay, I won’t tell him. But he’ll find out eventually – it’s not like this is a huge camp or anything. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be the one to tell.”

With a significant look, Octavia got up and left, heading towards the skinning area, where Clarke knew Lincoln was teaching some of the teens some new techniques. It only took a few seconds for Clarke to get up as well. She was many things, but indecisive was not one of them.

She went looking for Bellamy.

\---

Each thud of the ax was a cathartic release, and Bellamy knew well enough that once he’d finished cutting through the tree, he’d feel even better. He was alone – in the mood he was currently in, he’d demanded it. Sweaty and aching, a sweet sort of pain, he swung his weapon of choice with a vigor that probably wasn’t necessary; it wasn’t like he was chopping down an oak. But it _was_ necessary, because he had to drive away the thoughts, the frustration.

He largely failed.

Almost through, when a strained voice came from behind. “Bellamy.”

Letting the ax drop to the ground, the young man turned to face the speaker, his eyebrow rising as he saw who it was. “Princess,” he replied, looking her up and down in an automatic, quickly halted action. She seemed edgy, and Bellamy felt his body responding, a tensing that was partly worry and partly something else entirely. He demanded, “What is it?” fully expecting a calamity in camp.

Far from rushing to fill him in, she hesitated, coming closer in a way that reminded him of when they’d just become acquainted; like he was dangerous. He didn’t particularly enjoy the reminder, and a frown pulled at his lips.

“What is it?” he repeated impatiently.

She sucked in a deep breath, as though to enjoy the air. Except Clarke clearly wasn’t enjoying anything at the moment, let alone anything like air; she looked like she was prepping to jump off a cliff. “We need to talk,” she said tersely, surprising him, and Bellamy stilled, an idea abruptly coming to him.

“Yeah?” he responded, more of a distraction than a real question. It couldn’t be about…? In an effort to get rid of his longing for the touch that never came often enough, Bellamy had found he had a pretty active imagination, and there was only one girl who starred in his almost-dreams. He’d known – thought, convinced himself – that Clarke wasn’t receiving them, but if she was…

He put on his poker face.

Her own face was a mottled red, a worrying sight because he couldn’t think of a reason she might be angry unless she had found something out. But Clarke hardly seemed inclined to shout at him, like he would have expected. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest, eyes anywhere but him, and the signals were anything but enraged.

“Bellamy, I – Octavia told me something.”

His politely inquiring expression almost slipped, but Bellamy kept it on with effort. Clarke didn’t even look at him. “She said that you – that the thing that’s been happening to everyone – she said that it’s happening to you.”

Now confusion swept aside his worry, leaving him wary, and Bellamy’s brow furrowed, just a bit. He didn’t see where this was going – his own problems were so far from Clarke he couldn’t even consider it. And, having never seen her embarrassed, and not able to imagine that she _could_ be, this just seemed like a really elaborate attempt to get him to fess up.

Except that, seconds later, it became exceptionally clear that that wasn’t what this was. In a rush, like ripping off a bandage, his co-leader said, “Look, it was me, okay? I didn’t know you were getting it, I thought you wouldn’t. Even if mine keeps happening, I’m going to sto-”

“It’s _you_?” His poker face shattered, dropping his jaw and drawing down his eyebrows, and if the Grounders had broken into a spontaneous dance number, he wouldn’t have been more shocked. _“You?”_

If Clarke’s face could have gotten redder, it would have, except she was already pretty much ready to sink into the ground and pretend to be a tomato. The blonde girl flung back her shoulders, trying to reclaim some of her dignity. “Yes, me,” she replied stiffly, meeting his incredulous eyes for the first time and finding something other than disbelief in his gaze.

Bellamy came closer, hand pushing back his sweaty hair. The astonishment was still there, a churning in his gut, but something far stronger was pushing it away, shoving it into the depths of faint concern. He was remembering the last few weeks. The last few nights. The hot, aching moments spent on his cot, the painfully hard lips and teeth that would have marked his skin in a delightful way if they had been real. He was thinking about his list, and the fact that Clarke hadn’t been anywhere on it.

He was thinking that he must be very, very stupid.

Clarke hadn’t looked away, and the colour was starting to drain from her skin, leaving it flushed but not so much so. Her breath was still heavy, and though the embarrassment was lessening with every moment Bellamy didn’t laugh or yell, there was a lingering sense of disappointment. Disappointment and frustration. Because Bellamy may have found his ‘secret admirer’ but she was no closer to finding hers, and now she didn’t even have that outlet. Because, of course, she was going to have to stop.

When Bellamy grabbed her wrist, she gasped at the unexpected contact, made a half-hearted attempt to pull away. Surprisingly he let go, and when he spoke, his voice was a bit unsteady. “Clarke… you said you’ve been feeling it, too. Well… that was me.”

Embarrassment fled, roles reversed. It was Bellamy’s turn to look away, his jaw clenching as Clarke sputtered in disbelief. She was remembering the last few weeks spent trying to find out who gently touched her body in their fantasies. Of the last few nights spent gasping under the experienced hands of someone she must know. She was remembering how she’d walked by Bellamy’s tent and decided there was no way it could be him.

She was thinking she must have been very, very blind.

“I didn’t think it would be… you,” Clarke whispered, unable to speak louder around the obstruction in her throat.

Bellamy laughed tiredly, and when he turned to her, his grin was crooked across his face. “Didn’t think it would be like that, you mean?”

“No, I -” Chin jutting out, Clarke stared at him evenly. “Obviously you didn’t think it would be like that, either.” No, she hadn’t thought that Bellamy of all people would be so tender, but she wasn’t about to admit that to _him_.

He smirked, but there was something strangely vulnerable about the normally cocky expression. “I didn’t imagine the Ark’s princess would be so… sharp. Although I guess you’ve chewed me out enough times that I should have expected it.”

Clarke winced, took a step back. “Okay. Look, Bellamy, I don’t want to make this into more than it is. It’s been – distracting. Very, very distracting.” She blushed at just how distracting it had been, and didn’t miss the way his dark eyes flickered down her body, an almost agreement, before snapping back to her face. “We should stop.”

Bellamy’s head tilted, and he moved into the space she’d left. “That might work,” he agreed softly, and he felt a thrill at the way her face fell, just a little. Because those words – we should stop – had set his chest thumping loudly in protest, and now, fully aware of just who he was standing with, he was finding his body responding.

Intensely.

“Or,” Bellamy drawled, stretching the word out as he reached out, clasped her wrist again. “Or we could try another way to get it under control.” Under his thumb, Clarke’s pulse was pounding, and her skin felt hot. She made no attempt to move away as he leaned forward, brushed the hair from her face.

“You know,” he continued, “Octavia told me that imagining can make it really, really good. In the interest of exploring this strange occurrence to the fullest extent possible,” his formal words broke as she smiled, “do you wanna see just how spot on our imaginations are?”

Clarke was many things, but she was not indecisive. After a brief, breathless pause, she quickly disengaged her wrist, caught his elbow and pulled him closer. Straining up, her lips captured his, and her other hand firmly pushed him back until they were pressed against a tree. There, she hesitated, just fleetingly, breaking the kiss to look at him. “The camp…?” she said questioningly.

Reassuringly he rested his hands on her shoulders. “I trust the others,” Bellamy said, and found himself surprised at the truth in the statement. “They won’t blow anything up. Not for a few hours, anyways.”

And it was his turn to lean down, gently tilting her head up to press a long, careful kiss into the curve of her throat, broke it off as phantom fingers curled in his hair, replaced a second later by the real version. He gasped when Clarke smiled at him – because she was also tracing her searing thoughts down his stomach and then lower, and every sensation was a confident burn that left him shuddering.

Two could play at that game, and when he swiftly shifted his hands to the base of her shirt, lifting it over her head, she cried out – because he imagined his lips lingering across her chest, making warm circles around her nipples, and it was every bit as powerful as all the nights gone by. More so, because her body was treated to the double sensation of him kissing her lips at the same time.    

When hours had gone and they subsided in a quiet heap on the forest floor, Bellamy and Clarke could both agree that their imaginations hadn’t even been close to the real thing.                      


	3. Imagine Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand three months later, here we are. I have discovered that fun times are really hard to write, and if I fell flat on my face with this attempt, my apologies to everyone involved. Thanks so much to those of you that subscribed or just meandered by and left a kudos, you helped me push myself to complete this and I love you for that! I do hope you all enjoy this, and any comments are welcome.

The cut was well on its way to being healed over entirely, and it was with satisfaction that Clarke redressed the bandages on Becky’s hand, her firm motions swiftly getting the job done. Drawing back, she gave a brief nod, a slight smile. “It’s looking good,” the leader of their little encampment declared. “You’ll be back to cutting up plants in no time. Just make sure it’s plants, okay? I don’t want to have to patch you up again anytime soon.”

Becky grinned and said, “Thanks Clarke. I’ll be careful next time. I don’t think anyone else is waiting. You’ve got the evening free.” Her smile became entirely too knowing – just like everyone’s had – and Clarke flushed and turned away.

When the other girl had gone, Clarke tidied up the medical tent to distract herself, glad to know that that was her last patient for the day. Although _not_ (entirely) for the reason that so many of her friends seemed to think. Even without Grounders trying to stab them, most everyone from the dropship had managed to hurt themselves in some way or another. It got exhausting, trying to keep up with the breaks and cuts and sprains that the camp came to her to fix.

She was just finishing inventory, trying to remember if they had enough bandages, when a light hand pressed against the back of her neck. Not just light – almost intangible. An exhalation escaped her at the touch, and she straightened. Not an emergency – that would be Bellamy grabbing her elbow. Nothing for camp business, either, because that was a touch on her shoulder. But he did want her for something.

As she ducked out of the shelter, heading for Bellamy’s tent, Clarke reflected that it was pretty typical that Bellamy had decided to use something that could have been completely romantic as a _message relay system._ He’d come up with all of the signals, too. _Trust him to be totally practical. Although… not always._

There wasn’t too much that was practical about what they were about to do, after all. An embarrassed smile pulled at her lips at the thought, and she glanced around, an automatic motion. No one was paying any particular attention, and she moved into Bellamy’s shelter with the distinct feeling of being paranoid and overly eager. After all, by now all the encampment knew, and it wasn’t as if this was their first time. Or second. Or tenth.

The discomfort swept away as soon as she saw him.

The enthusiasm was there to stay.

He was waiting for her, his dark eyes almost soft as they met her own. On another day, she might have been the one to call him, might have been the one to caress his neck with her ghostly touch and send shivers gliding down his spine… but it felt good, knowing he wanted her, too. Knowing it was far from being a one way street.

She was smiling, an unconscious thing, and when he lifted an eyebrow inquiringly, Clarke only shook her head, came closer, her shoulders set back, watching and waiting. It didn’t take long. Bellamy started his offense, as he so often did, with gentle contact against her neck, urging her chin up so he could kiss her throat more firmly, like he was trying to taste her pulse. Goosebumps erupted over her skin, but Clarke stayed where she was, keeping the encouraging moan locked firmly away.

She wasn’t about to let him win, after all. Her turn, and Clarke sent her feathery touch trailing along his dusky skin, letting herself marvel at how good touching him was, even if it was only in her thoughts. Anticipation a sweet throb all over her body, she imagined her thumbs rolling along his nipples, saw them stiffen underneath the tight fabric of his shirt even as he swallowed and his eyelids fluttered before he forced them open. His grin sprawled tightly across his face, easy acknowledgement that she was getting _much_ better at this… but it was his turn now.

Bellamy’s phantom hand was suddenly on the inside of her thigh, his fingers languidly moving across the sensitive area, teasing her as they got closer and then further away. Suddenly her pants felt almost unbearably restrictive, and under his experienced phantasm touch Clarke almost gave in, almost took them off. Except that he’d won almost all of the times they’d done this, and as much as his smug smirk made her breath catch, as sensual as his control made her feel… it was her turn.

The game had developed in an offhanded way. They both wanted to top. They both wanted to direct. And while they could enjoy being the one who was lead – God knew she’d gotten Bellamy off more than once that way – it was never easy to give that up at the beginning, for either of them. And so the game. Without physically touching each other, who could elicit the first gasp? Who could make the other one throw their clothes off, expose their skin to the other’s commanding hands? It wasn’t anything they’d said in words, no rules put in stone. But still – they both knew.

Determination putting a furrow between her brow, her heartbeat thrumming erratically at the thrill of a pleasurable challenge, Clarke abruptly decided to do something she’d never done before, too embarrassed to try without encouragement. She imagined her hands clutching at the sharp jut of his hips, her knees resting comfortably against the ground. And she imagined sliding her fingers down to skim along his erection, imagined leaning in closer, her tongue flicking over the tip of –

Bellamy groaned, tension shuddering through his wiry frame, and instantly Clarke relaxed, let the fantasy slip away. The boy sagged, leaned against his cot. Without looking at her, a ragged catch in his voice, he said, “Princess, I’d – almost call that cheating.”

Her own voice coming breathless, Clarke replied, “That’s just because you weren’t expecting it.”   

Bellamy laughed, opened his eyes. “Yeah,” he agreed softly, idly, and shifted so that he was sitting on the bed, legs over the side, his hands propping him up, an open invitation. He wasn’t a sore loser – not in this, at least.

Closing the distance, victory making this all the better – she really didn’t win much – Clarke pushed against his chest, and unresisting he moved back and then laid down, his hands reaching up to steady her when she joined him on the bed. With a triumphant, playful grin, she straddled Bellamy, let her weight rest against him.

“Take off your shirt,” she said, hooking her fingers on the bottom of her own and pulling it and her bra off as he wordlessly lifted off his shirt. Looking down at the perfect figure underneath her, the worries of their predicament sitting at the door where she’d left them, Clarke felt her smile fade, replaced by an intense look. Watching his face, she shifted, slowly and deliberately grinding against him, and when he grunted, low and hard, she felt an answering throb between her legs.

Keeping up the pressure on his groin, Clarke let Bellamy grab her, hands fitting warmly around her waist, but when he began to buck upwards she stopped moving, caught his wrists and pinned them against the bed. “Be patient,” she said soothingly, echoing advice he’d given her even as she rocked purposefully hard against him. Exhaling explosively, Bellamy nodded, hands relaxing from the strained fists they’d curled into, and she allowed him to clutch her again, resumed her teasing lap dance.

He was hard within a few minutes – she could feel it through his pants – and each time Clarke moved he quivered, the strain of staying still building up more and more. She loved the vulnerable lust in his open mouth, the way his breath came uneven and panting with every moment. She loved the way his hands were firm but gentle against her skin, and the unguarded way he admired her body with his normally hooded gaze.

Most of all, when she pressed particularly fiercely against him and he threw back his head, Clarke loved the way he gasped her name like it was prayer.

Bellamy loved the way she’d grown, reservations slowly stripping away until she was where she was now, confidently on top of him. He loved the passionate intensity she regarded him with, the way she brought him to the brink and then eased back, the way she knew him so, so well. He loved the way she knew exactly what he wanted.

He was less fond of the way she sometimes chose to deny him it. With a hot groan, Bellamy felt another wave of gut clenching desire surge through him, locking his muscles, crying for relief. His hips jerked, an automatic motion, but before Clarke could say anything he stilled himself. A sharp smile on her lips, she reached out, caressed his right nipple with a gentle motion – and then shifted hard on his groin.

He groaned again, barely able to think through the need that was arcing from the heat between her legs to the hardness between his. “Clarke,” Bellamy breathed again, and it was an urgent plea, an entreaty for release. In response she swung off him, her hands finding the fly of his pants. When it was undone, he almost tore them off, relieved to find she was getting in a similar state of undress. Seconds later, with both of them naked, Clarke came back to him, a different sort of light in her beautifully clear eyes.

Recognizing it, he focused through his desire, struggled to let his thoughts turn to her own pleasure. It was hard – harder than he’d thought it would be – to fantasize about someone when they were _so_ close, but both of them were getting better at it. Even as she leaned down and kissed him, a deep, hungry contact that ended with her sucking painfully hard on his bottom lip, Bellamy imagined his fingers tracing the smooth lines of her hipbones and then moving down, between her thighs.

She gasped against his mouth and he smirked, her encouragement shoving him closer to the peak he’d been straining towards for so long. When he replaced his imagining with his actual hand, he found Clarke hot and wet, as sensitive to touch as he was. He thought about licking and sucking her heaving breasts, striving to bring her to the heights he was hitting. About to push his finger deeper, he jerked to a stop, a moan escaping his lips as her thoughts wrapped around his arousal, sucking sensually along his length even as she kissed him again, her fingers getting tangled in his hair as she firmly pulled his head back. He bared his throat willingly, moaning from the unthinking pleasure of her lips against his throat and, more lightly, around his erection.

He did his best to return the favor through the fog of desire that was wrapping up his limbs, making them spastic. Focusing once again on his finger, he added another one, felt Clarke jerk away from him for just a moment before settling more firmly on his hand, returning to her quick, hard sucking on his neck. He crooked his fingers several times, deliberately drawing against the moist walls of her sex, and was rewarded seconds later as it clenched around his fingers and Clarke cried out, breaking off her kissing.

“Clarke I – _fuck_.” His back arched, his hips thrusting up, and the imaginings disappeared as both of them lost concentration in the ecstasy of their orgasms. Too early, but Bellamy didn’t care, wave after wave of hot, almost unbearable pleasure rolling across his body in a slowly diminishing rush that left him throbbing and sensitive to every little pressure that Clarke produced as she slumped across him.

Her face pressed into his shoulder, panting for breath, Clarke moved until she was curled firmly against his side and Bellamy languidly draped his arm around her, contentment almost too much. His instincts were there – like they always were – screaming that something would go wrong, that this couldn’t last. That this was, after all, mostly just fiction. His mind painted pictures of despair and loneliness, just as it always had.

But some things were more than just fantasies. He pushed his imagination away even as he pulled her closer.


End file.
